Getting What She Wants
by DisenchantedGlow
Summary: Hermione Granger always gets what she wants. Even if it means she has to break some rules along the way. A Sirimione marriage law one shot for msmerlin13


**Getting What She Wants**

_"Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere."_ ― Mae West, Wit & Wisdom of Mae West

Hermione sat cross legged on the soft mattress of her four poster bed and nervously tapped the feathered end of a quill against her chin. For once the rumours being whispered amongst the Ministry of Magic employees were true, and the proof lay slightly wrinkled in her lap. An official Ministry decree, notifying all witches and wizards between the ages of seventeen and fifty of the new Marriage Law that had been signed by the Wizengamot that morning.

One month. She had one month to choose a wizard to marry or she was required to complete the provided questionnaire and return it to the Ministry to be matched with a compatible partner. And then she must marry whomever she chose within five months. Hermione frowned, eyes flickering over the questions, thankful that she wasn't going to actually depend on such shallow points of compatibility to find her a husband. She _did, _though, have to fill out the paperwork. She wasn't currently in a relationship and didn't see that changing over the course of the next four weeks.

Harry was, of course, going to marry Ginny—he'd actually had a ring before this bloody law was even merely a whisper in the Ministry canteen—and Ron was planning on asking Susan to be his wife. He was so stupidly in love with her it was adorable.

Any other friends she might have turned to for a marriage of convenience were either also in long term relationships or entirely out of the question if she at least wanted a partner with whom she could have a companionable, happy life.

And so it had come down to this. _He_ was forcing her hand. Forcing her to go with the third option, the _risky_ option. The option she had worried over, the option she had planned out late at night in this very bed. The one that exploited a loophole in the wording of the marriage law and gave her hope that maybe—if her arithmancy was correct and she had factored for all variables—she could actually ensnare the wizard she so desperately wanted for her own.

Hermione pulled the quill from where the soft feather tickled the skin of her chin and dipped the pointed tip into the inkpot. She brought it to the surface of the parchment, careful to avoid any random ink drops as she very determinedly began to fill out the Ministry's form.

**How many children do you wish to have: **_7_

**Are you willing to relocate: **_yes_

**Are you willing to quit your job: **_yes_

**What are your hobbies:**_ Quidditch, drinking at the pub, cooking, performing household spells_

**What is your favourite colour: **_Slytherin green_

The questions continued for the rest of the page, becoming more ridiculous as the bottom of the parchment loomed. When she was finished, Hermione read back through what she had written, double checking her work as though she had been filling out the answers to her Charms test. She cringed as she read over her response to the question about NEWTs received, her fingers aching to scratch out that bloody two. She hated looking stupid, even if it was a lie for the greater good. She sighed, leaving the incredibly low number, knowing that it would only help her to get an even more incompatible match.

She sat back against the nest of pillows at her headboard and rubbed her cramping muscles in her writing hand, lamenting the necessity of lying. It truly was _his_ fault she was having to take such a hazardous chance. If she had calculated wrong, she could potentially be stuck with whoever it was the Ministry decided to pair her with. All the best wizards would be snatched away quickly, wedding rings stuck on their fingers before another witch could sink her claws into them, and Hermione would then be left with less than prime candidates from which to choose.

But if her plan worked—well, the reward would be plentiful. If she filled out this questionnaire with absolutely ridiculous lies and was matched with someone completely unsuitable and horrendous, he would _have_ to agree to marry her. He would succumb to the pressure of their friends and acquaintances and would, of course, do The Right Thing.

It was definitely a gamble. But the Sorting Hat hadn't sorted her into Gryffindor for nothing.

And besides, Sirius Black was worth the risk.

* * *

Her preoccupation with him started back in third year. She'd spent so much time thinking of Sirius Black as a crazy, bloodthirsty killer that when she first saw him, she was surprised that he was just a man. A man who was intimidating with his anger and strength of magic, but a man who was also gaunt and dirty. A man who was… human. Hermione had been unable to keep her thoughts from frequently turning to him over the course of the next year, as though she were responsible for him after having helped save his life. She had constantly wondered if he was eating enough and getting enough rest, worrying that he was letting his Gryffindor recklessness threaten his safety. On the days that Harry had received a letter from Snuffles, she'd been able to finally relax, the tension leaving her shoulders as she knew that for a while, Sirius had been safe.

Hermione had once, after offering to carry Harry's letter up to the owlery, scribbled a postscript on the bottom of the parchment, letting Sirius know she too was worried about him. From then on he had made an effort to send her a note of her own, at first just a mere sentence or two assuring her he was eating and healthy but later growing longer and more personal as they shared their mutual love and fear for Harry. There had been times—when Harry and Ron weren't speaking with her, when her classwork and the threat of Voldemort were overpowering— that Sirius' notes were the only things she felt were keeping her sane. And yet, she'd never told the boys. She always let them believe the letters were from her parents, hesitant to share this one thing that was hers alone.

When Sirius fell through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had been crushed. Her friend, her ally, her coconspirator—was gone. The man she had come to care so much about and to depend on to keep her secrets and give her advice. The man who loved Harry as much as she did—was dead. It was her first real heartbreak. And it was made all the more awful by her inability to express her feelings about him. Harry and Ron knew nothing about how close they had become, so Hermione had focused her attention on Harry and making sure he was okay. But her sixth year had been so difficult. She was adrift without her letters from Sirius.

After the final battle, when the funerals and memorial services were done and the restoration of Hogwarts was well underway, the portrait of Headmaster Dumbledore had summoned her, Harry, and Ron, informing them of a book he had read that spoke of the creation of the Veil and its purpose. Harry had unnecessarily pleaded with Hermione, begging her to find the book and see if there was something—_anything_—she could do. Even if it was just so he could talk to his godfather one last time.

The book had been easy to find, packed away with the remnants of Dumbledore's possessions, but it had taken Hermione over a year of incessant research to decipher the charms and spellwork the passage alluded to and another infuriating six months to convince Kingsley to allow her access to the Department of Mysteries Veil Room. But once in front of the magical artifact, Hermione had been able to rework the spells and develop a counter charm within a month. Soon after, Sirius Black had stepped out of the Veil: tall, imposing, and not having aged a day. And Hermione's heart still clenched when she laid eyes on him.

She'd spent two years agonising over her feelings for Sirius, chiding herself for mooning over him like a schoolgirl one minute while arguing Transfiguration theory with him the next. He'd allowed her to stay and make Grimmauld Place her home while she apprenticed Charms under Professor Flitwick, and he'd helped her to become an Animagus, while every accidental touch, every brush of their fingers, every conversation, and every argument fanned the flames of Hermione's desire for the raven-haired Marauder.

On the fifth anniversary of the Final Battle, the Order eschewed the formal Ministry Celebratory Ball in favour of a more relaxed remembrance at the old Headquarters at 12 Grimmauld. Alcohol was, of course, free flowing, Sirius having brought up a stash of elf-made wine from the wine cellar before the party was underway.

Three glasses of the sweet, rich wine later and Hermione had made her move, allowing her Gryffindor courage to be fueled by alcohol and desire. She followed Sirius into the library and practically threw herself at him, sitting on the couch beside him, hips touching. She caressed the skin of his arms, exposed below the rolled cuffs at his elbows as the two discussed the ridiculousness of celebrating something as awful as war, and when finally he had turned his head to stare into her eyes, she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. Their spark was immediate, and Sirius' hand had snapped out to grasp the back of her head, his fingers carding through her hair and holding her still as he deepened the kiss, growling low in his throat.

Their hands tore at each other's clothes, and there, on the worn old area rug, in front of the crackling fire with the rest of the Order drunkenly celebrating throughout the rest of the house, Hermione had finally, _finally_ gotten what she'd wanted most. He was her friend, mentor, confidant, co-conspirator, and now, finally, her lover. Hers to keep.

But she had lost him in less than an hour's time.

Curled next to him, her palm flat against the bare skin of his chest, his coarse hair tickling at her skin, Hermione had opened her mouth and ruined everything.

"I'm so glad you're finally mine."

Sirius stilled, his fingers pausing along her spine where they had been exploring the soft bump of every vertebrae. "Hermione, we—" he'd started, clearing his throat and trying again, "I shouldn't have done this. You're Harry's best friend. You're only twenty-three, for Merlin's sake!"

Hermione had sat up, clutching the black knit blanket they had thrown over themselves against her naked chest. "I've fought a war, Sirius. It's not like I'm some naive child."

"No, I'm not saying you are," he'd replied, running his hand through his shoulder length hair, fingers tangling on the knots from their earlier romp. "But you _are_ Harry's best friend. And I'm his godfather. And I don't want it to get complicated or to put him in an awkward position."

"_Fuck_ Harry, Sirius! He's my best friend, and I love him, but I spent seven years of my life living for him—following him into danger, protecting him from harm. For Merlin's sake, I even put my education on hold to help him defeat Voldemort. I think I'm finally allowed to do something selfish without taking his feelings into consideration." Hermione's chest had heaved, her breath coming in angry little pants as she tried to control her emotions. How dare he try to make excuses? She knew he wanted her. He'd been looking at her for weeks when he thought she wouldn't catch him, and it bloody well hadn't taken much to seduce him that night.

Sirius had reached out and touched Hermione's arm, caressing the skin from elbow to shoulder. "I care for you Hermione, how could I not? But I'm not the settling down type. I'm too old and set in my ways to be anyone's partner. And you deserve so much more than I can give you."

He'd stood up, unembarrassed at his nudity, and slowly pulled on his pants and trousers, searching the room for his shirt before summoning it from beneath the faded couch. As he secured the last button at his collar bone, he'd leaned down and kissed Hermione's forehead. "Forgive me."

They hadn't spoken of that night since. In fact, they had hardly spoken of anything at all in the following months. Hermione had gambled and lost, not only her chance at a romantic relationship, but also her friendship with Sirius. If she walked into a room he was in, he would quickly come up with an excuse to leave. When he would leave for his dates with Muggle women, he wouldn't even meet Hermione's eyes, instead looking at his feet and giving a terse "Good night" if he happened to cross her path on his way out. He was a serial dater, constantly out with a new woman, never seeing the same one more than twice.

Hermione might have been discouraged, but she knew Sirius. And she saw they way he looked at her. She saw him stare at her breasts when she came down to the kitchen first thing in the morning still in her pyjamas. She felt his eyes on her as she read in the library, and she caught his longing gaze as Harry or Ron hugged her in greeting. Sirius Black was not as unaffected as he pretended to be.

And so she bided her time, knowing one day her chance to call him hers would come again.

* * *

Three weeks. Three long, agonising weeks Hermione had waited, anxious to see if her plan was going to work. It had to work. She _needed_ it to work. There was no backup plan or second option for her. She wanted Sirius Black or no one.

She sat at the scarred wooden table in the basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place, Ron and Harry across from her as the trio finished their lunch of fish and chips. Harry and Hermione had made the mistake a few years back of introducing Ron to takeaway, and now, every time it was his turn to provide the meal, it was bound to be something quick and greasy.

Hermione wiped her fingers and took a sip of her pumpkin juice, draining the glass. The boys had come by to keep her company this afternoon after rumours had circulated around the Ministry that the matches to the Marriage Law questionnaire were being owled out today. As both Harry and Ron had already submitted the names of their fiances to the Ministry, they wanted to provide Hermione moral support when she received her owl.

With a sudden pop, Kreacher was at her side, a thick white envelope in his hand with the Ministry seal affixed on the flap.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said, taking the envelope and holding it in her hands, staring at her name printed across the front. She nervously tapped the corner of the heavy parchment against the top of the table as she looked up to meet Harry and Ron's gazes.

"Well? What are you waiting for?! Open it!" Ron demanded.

Hermione tried to smile, the corner of her mouth barely turning up as she looked to Harry for support.

"It'll be alright, 'Mione, no matter what."

She nodded and, with a deep breath, slid her finger under the flap of the envelope, gently breaking the wax seal. She pulled out the single piece of parchment and scanned the contents, her shoulders relaxing as she took in their meaning. It had worked. Everything was falling into place.

Hermione mentally shook herself, refusing to let her happiness show, instead adopting a tragically brave smile as she looked at her two best friends and began to read aloud.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We at the Department for Magical Marriages are pleased to inform you that the contents of your previously completed questionnaire garnered you not one, but two compatible wizards from which to choose. We suggest that you contact each match as quickly as possible to come to a mutual understanding regarding the details of your pending marriage. _

_Match One:_

_Marcus Flint, aged 29_

_Match Two:_

_Gregory Goyle, aged 24 _

_The name of your chosen partner must be submitted to the Ministry within one week, with the wedding to follow sometime in the next five months. Congratulations on your matches!_

_Dorothy Vane_

_Ministry Marriage Law Liaison _

Hermione folded the parchment in half and tucked it back into the envelope, avoiding looking at her friends. She let a small smirk fall across her lips for the briefest of moments. She couldn't have chosen two more perfect matches. They were so completely wrong for her; there was no way Harry and Ron would stand for it. They would do anything in their power to make sure she didn't have to marry either of the listed wizards.

She once again erased the emotion from her face, blinking rapidly to try to force a tear to come to her eyes. She finally raised her head looking first to Harry whose green eyes were wide behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He opened his mouth, only to shut it again quickly without any sound having escaped. Ron's face was flaming red, and his hands were clenched on top of the kitchen table, his knuckles white.

"No bloody way," he erupted, his fist banging against the wooden surface. "You are _not_ marrying one of those bloody wankers! They were Death Eaters! And _Slytherins_!"

Hermione just smiled sadly at Ron, her head tilted gently to the side as she reached out a hand to cover his. She held back a grin. Perfect. His reaction was _perfect_.

"It'll be alright, Ron. I mean—" she gulped audibly, intensifying the drama of the moment "—we only have to get married. There's nothing in the law that says we have to live together. And yes, we have to… have to… have a child together, but after that we can go our separate ways. It won't be so bad. You know how I like having my own space."

"No, Hermione," Harry finally spoke up. "You will _not_ marry either of those wizards. I won't let you have that kind of life. Not after everything you've done for me. Merlin, what were they thinking, pairing you with those buffoons? We'll go to Kingsley. We'll tell him that—"

"What, Harry?" she interrupted as she reached out her free hand out to take his. "Tell him what? That I'm unhappy with my matches? That I need more time? Don't you think every other witch and wizard is already telling him the same thing? I'm sure there are quite a few of us who are going to be crestfallen at their match. I'm at least lucky I have a choice between the two."

Ron scoffed. "Some choice that is... a mean, skinny ex-Death Eater or a mean, fat ex-Death Eater." His hand unwound from its clenched fist and he held Hermione's hand, slowly running his thumb along her palm. "We'll find you someone else. We still have a week, right? We'll ask all the lads in the D.M.L.E. I mean, Smuthers can't have found someone yet, right?" he looked to Harry questioningly.

Harry shook his head. "He asked Sheila down in the Muggle Liaison Office. They sent me an invitation to the wedding."

"Well what about Neville? Seamus?" Ron continued, determined to think of someone other than Marcus _bloody_ Flint and fucking _Goyle_ for Hermione to marry.

Harry again shook his head. "Hannah and Dean, respectively."

Hermione looked at the boys—no, the men—in front of her as they tried so hard to help her. Her heart soared with love for the both of them, only slightly twinging at having had to deceive them. They really were the best of friends. She leaned forward slightly, both of her arms outstretched across the table, holding each of their hands in one of hers. She squeezed slightly to get their attention, stopping them as they began to name every wizard they knew.

"Stop. There's only a week left. Every decent wizard between the ages of seventeen and fifty was scooped up as soon as the Marriage Law was passed, and those who might have been missed have just been matched with someone else. So unless I decide to choose someone decidedly _older_—"

Hermione was cut off as Sirius sauntered into the room, tumbler of firewhiskey in one hand and Ministry envelope in the other.

"Well, the last of the Mauraders is to remain a bachelor no more." He drained the remaining two fingers worth of alcohol in his glass before dropping it into the sink. He tossed his envelope onto the table where the other three sat and motioned to it with a flick of his wrist. "It's all in there. My Ministry 'matches.' Thank Merlin there are three of them I can choose between. I'll have to send them each an owl this afternoon to get the snitch flying." He swiped a chip from Harry's plate and popped it into his mouth.

"Anyone we know?" Harry asked, jaw clenched at Sirius' seeming disregard for the seriousness of the situation.

Hermione's fingers tightened around Ron and Harry's. This was it. The moment that could derail her carefully crafted scheme. Though not for lack of trying, she hadn't been able to find a way to alter either Sirius' questionnaire answers or his list of compatible witches. If one of those three—_three!—_women were an old friend, an ally, or just in the same impossible situation Hermione found herself in, she could very well have competition. And if the witch were closer to Sirius' own age... well, Hermione already knew his thoughts on her youth. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"Not personally. Two are names I don't recognise at all, though you may be familiar with the third…"

Hermione's heart constricted, the blood whirring through her ears, loudly preventing her from hearing the end of his sentence. "Pardon?"

"Carlotta Zabini. I think you went to school with her son, Blaise, is it? There's not enough money in Gringotts to convince me to marry her. I have no desire to be the eighth—or would it be ninth now?—husband to mysteriously die."

Hermione released her breath, and her heart picked up its normal rhythm as Sirius laughed at the idea of marrying the known black widow. She saw Harry frown slightly at his godfather's good humour as Ron joined in the laughter.

Sirius looked around the table to Harry, surprised that he wasn't enjoying the joke as well. Abruptly his chuckling stopped, and he furrowed his brow, taking in the position of the three friends, their hands clasped forming a triangle across the top of the table. "What's wrong?"

Ron's face grew serious again, remembering the conversation he had been a part of before Sirius entered the kitchen. He cleared his throat. "Err, umm, well, 'Mione got her matches today too."

Hermione watched him through her lowered lashes as he first looked at Ron, then took in Harry's tight jaw before resting his eyes on her own lowered head.

"And they're not… good?" Sirius asked, trying to read the room.

"No," Harry stated, not bothering to expand upon his monosyllabic answer as Ron spat over him.

"Bloody Death Eaters!"

"What?" Sirius' eyes widened as he looked at Hermione. "You're joking. Either that or someone's made a colossal mistake."

"No joke, mate," Ron told him, shaking his head. "We were trying to make a plan. There has to be someone else who 'Mione can marry instead. Anyone is better than that Slytherin scum. But where are we going to find a decent wizard who isn't already promised at this—"

Harry's hand suddenly shot out, wrapping tightly around Ron's bicep and stopping him mid-sentence. "Sirius," he started slowly, his brows furrowed in thought. "You haven't submitted a name yet to the Ministry, and you haven't made any promises to one of your matches yet. We trust you. And I know it may be awkward, but you— _you_ should marry 'Mione."

Hermione raised her head as she stared first at Harry and then at Sirius, feigning shock. But on the inside, she danced in place as she felt all of her plans finally click into place.

Hermione stood in the small bridal tent, smoothing her hands down the front of her white beaded gown as she checked her image in the mirror one last time. She twisted, craning her neck over her shoulder as she tried to ensure her decency charms were holding on the fabric that dipped daringly low on her hips, exposing her entire back.

There was a slight rustling at the entrance flap as Harry walked in, his hand covering his eyes. "Hermione, are you ready?"

"Yes, Harry. You can open your eyes, I'm dressed."

Her best friend of nearly fifteen years stood there in shock, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he took in the image of the normally conservative witch. "Wow, 'Mione. It's like the Yule Ball but better. You look amazing. Like a… like a _bride_."

Hermione laughed and threw her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. "Good. That's rather the point. I _am_ getting married today."

Harry pulled back slightly and placed his hands against her biceps, his face serious. "Are you alright with all of this? Everything's been happening so fast, and I didn't even bloody _ask_ you that day at Grimmauld before I just opened my big mouth and basically demanded that Sirius marry you. I just… I love you, and I want you to be happy. And if you aren't, Ron and I will smuggle you out of England and fight to overturn this bloody law. We'll—"

Hermione slapped her hand over his mouth, stopping his verbal anxiety. "Harry. It's fine. Sirius and I get along; we're friends. It may not be love yet, but I'm sure it will be a good marriage. He was definitely the best of my choices. And besides..." She laughed and removed her hand from Harry's mouth, placing it in the crook of his elbow and dragging him out of the tent. "He is rather fit, isn't he?"

"Hey! That's my godfather you're objectifying!"

"Yes, and he's going to be my husband." Hermione smiled, standing next to Harry at the end of the long leaf-strewn aisle, tall trees flanking either side, with the guest chairs tucked beneath them. At the end of the path, she could make out her fiancé standing in his finest robes, watching her.

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking down at her.

"Ready."

Hermione straightened her shoulders and, hand still tucked in Harry's elbow, began her march down the aisle. As she got closer to her fiancé, the man she had dreamed of making her own for what seemed like forever now, she smirked and quietly hummed the Muggle wedding march to herself.

Hermione Granger—soon to be Black—always got what she wanted.

* * *

Happy Birthday **msmerlin13**! you're the most amazing friend and I'm so glad we found each other in this fandom!

Many thanks to **Bionically** who read over my outline and really helped me to flush out the characters. and to **Ravenslight **who as always, did an amazing beta job on this, fixing all of my commas and run on sentences. You all are the best!


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